


Hello, my name is Clyde

by PrincessLiamer



Category: South Park
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-07-22 11:34:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7436187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincessLiamer/pseuds/PrincessLiamer





	Hello, my name is Clyde

My name is Clyde Donovan. I’m eighteen. Last month I graduated high school and will be going to a college in state at the end of the summer. What this is is me saying a bunch of things I haven’t been able to tell someone. This is because of how I look at my relations with people. A list of things. In high school, I was well liked. I think. I don’t actually know. I went with the assumption that everyone just pretended to like me, and I thought about it, and I was pretending to like them to, so I guess we all were just lying to each other. Me tai the world. Sorry. I was always kind of crazy, I guess. I would do the weird things people couldn’t believe someone came up with. I described it as being a secondary character on a comedy show. I was just there to be unbelievable. But that’s what I told others. When I say I’m crazy, I actually do constantly have delusions, like I’m being watched. That everyone around me knows everything about me. That I’m never alone. A lot of the time I would talk to myself, like there was a second person having a conversation with me. But that eventually stopped after three years. But what’s terrible about all these things is that I made it so that everything was a joke. I was never serious about anything else, and then sometimes I would tell people about these fears, and I would play it off like it’s just another one of my elaborate bits, and think, now they know I know, but I don’t care. I feel the same about this thing I’m doing right now. If I put it on the internet, real people aren’t going to read, just whoevers constantly monitoring me. And I’ll still tell myself I don’t care.  
As for when I can convince myself that that’s all just my brain being insane, I still have to come to terms with the fact that I don’t have any real friends. The things to friends I had in high school were these three guys, Token, Craig and Tweek, and of these three, Token was the closest. He was too nice. It’s a shame he had to deal with my shit. I would often use him as a confidante. He shouldn’t have had to have dealt with that. Tweek and Craig were two guys who didn’t really have friends outside of each other. And they loved each other. When they realized I actually did care about them, they opened up to me a bit more. I haven’t actually hung out with anyone since school ended. No one’s asked to. And I wouldn’t want to force myself onto others. I don’t want them to be discomforted by my presence. Actually, Token invited me to his Grad party. I was excited about it, but then my sister wanted to take me somewhere else the same day, and I couldn’t go. Now Token probably thinks I don’t want to hang around him. Because of my sister. I had my own Grad party, but again, I didn’t want to subject others to having to be there.  
I miss being a kid. When I was younger, I was happier. I was an idiot. I would never notice when people didn’t want to hang out. I was satisfied being a lonely little kid. I cried over everything back then, too. Mostly when my older sister would bully me. Or when my father would scorn me. I remember when my sister, who is three years older than me, entered middle school and became rebellious, and my dad looked at me and asked, “You’re not going to be like that, are you?” And I told him no. But that was before I realized he was an asshole. I wish I could cry as easily as I did back when I was a kid. Now, I long to be able to cry. It’s so hard for me. SOmetimes, I feel like I’m so much of a monster, I want to cry so I can be reminded I’m still human. There was a glorious time a couple months ago where I was so past my emotional limit that when I got to my bed at the end of the day, I would just put on some good music and start bawling. My dad never noticed. On a daily basis, I’m not quite as emotional as I’d hope to be. At the start of this year of highschool, I had become so emotionally unstable that my face had been broken and could only show two emotions, smugness and exhaustion. I would either look like I had just not slept in two days, or I would have a single single side of mouth curling into a smile. When my sister sees me making this face, she’ll yell at me to stop it, but I can’t, and I wish I could. So people just think I’m happy most the time. It’s better that way.   
I’m pansexual, and I’ve been in two relationships, both with women, and neither of them were at all satisfying, looking back. They were both incredibly short. One barely felt like a relationship at all. The first was with a girl named Bebe Stevens. I really liked her, but when I think about, I got nothing out of that relationship. The only reason she dated me was because I offered her emotional support, without reciprocating any. She had a terrible mother, who didn’t care about her in the least, and she would often talk with me about her, and I would give her validation. Even after our relationship ended, I continued to offer her that emotional support. I found out we broke up because I didn’t move fast enough. I was apparently supposed to have made further moves on her than I had. When we became sort of friends after breaking up, she talk about her breaking up with a boy after a month because he hadn’t tried to get to second base yet. Which is the same thing that had happened with us. So… I don’t know. She once laughed at me because I told her I believe in true love. I don’t think she’ll ever truly be satisfied.  
The second relation was another girl, Henrietta Marshall. She was really strange. When she first approached me, she said that she really liked me, but we didn’t immediately start dating. Instead, she started dating another boy, and told me that since we hadn’t talked all weekend, she thought I wasn’t interested. I told her it didn’t matter, and we could still be friends. Then, she started using me to cheat on her boyfriend. It was terrible, and It’s something I have to live with and make peace with. After a week, she told me I should start dating her best friend, Katie Gelson, who also liked me. I didn’t, and we continued cheating on her boyfriend. After two weeks, she broke up with her boyfriend, and we became a sort of thing. Except she could barely let me touch her. I really liked Henrietta. SHe had a lot of problems. Her aunt and uncle watched after her, and they were terrible people. Kind of. Henrietta would hurt herself, and that made me nervous and fear for her safety. At this time, while I got to know Henrietta, I also got to know Katie. She is a sociopath. Katie had done so many terrible things to Henrietta as her best friend. She had given her prescription medication, which knowing her as well as she did, should have she would abuse, which she did. She had cheated on her with her previous boyfriends. She’d abused her so that she would return to hurting herself. Katie tried to force me to sleep with her. I denied. She then told me that Henrietta had been cheating on me with the boy she’d cheating on with me, which I never found out if was true or not, and that she was going to force her to break up with me, and that I couldn’t start a relationship with her because she only did one night stands. She also told me not to apply to my number one choice for college, because her aunt was the administrative officer there, and she would tell her not to let me in. Briefly after this, Henrietta stopped talking to me. It took me a while to realize that she wasn’t going to actually tell me to my face that our relationship was over. So I stopped hanging around her. I always think back and feel I should have gone back and let her know even though we’re no longer dating, I still care about her as a friend and want her to be safe. But I’m too much of a coward. All I want is someone who will care about me. It’s been so long since someone’s let me hold them as they hold me. It feels like a hole in me, waiting for someone to come and care  
There are so many things I need to talk about. I think what I want to talk about next is how useless I am. I know for a fact it’s true. It’s why I don’t bother traveling, or aspiring. I put on a show for the world. I act it up. I show them how confident I can be. I’m flamboyant and eccentric, comedic and clever, all for the sake of others. But in reality, I’m useless, and I accept it. There’s something I haven’t told anyone. The kind of thing I would tell Token if I could. I know I’m going to fail out of college. I did so poorly in high school, there’s no way I won’t. I have no plans for what I would do if I manage if I graduate college. I only plan for what will happen when I fail out. My father will no longer accept me. He’ll pretend like he still loves me, but he only cares about his kids as long as there something to be proud of, and there is a clear scale for pride, and being attracted to the same sex in any form has put me at a permanent disadvantage on the pride scale. When I fail out of college, I’m going to have to bounce out of this home fast. I might live on the street for a while. What I would love to do is head to California. But I just need to get far away from here. It would be a long time before someone comes looking for me, if at all, but I don’t want to be found. No need to attempt fixing what’s broken beyond repair. I’m scared of what will happen when I try and support myself. What if I have to choose between food and shelter? What if I can’t find a job? What all that useless time I spent in college has drained all of my money, and I have nothing to start on? These thoughts have been plaguing me for months, now.   
In high school, my football coach was the biggest piece of shit I ever met. And everyone on the team agreed with me. The only person worse was Eric Cartman, but the two of them were very similar. Fat, racist, homophobic bastards. But my dad loved him. He pretended to hate him when he said blatantly racist things, even though my dad was a racist, too, but he got results. He made our team the best in the state, and got us to a national level. No one ever questioned his abstract teaching methods, other than the players themselves who had to live through it. He would subject us to abuse, systemic oppression, and other terrible things. My dad would say, “If you hate the team so much, why don’t you just quit?” But I couldn’t quit. At the end of the Junior year, I said definitely that I was going to quit, and there was no questioning it. My father threatened me, then my coach threatened me, then my coach talked to my dad, and my dad threatened me more violently, and I was on the team for another year. When this year ended, and I told my coach I didn’t want to go to the state finals, he told this exactly: “No one is ever going to give a shit about you the way I have. And you will never amount to anything off this team.” And I can remember that quote exactly because it struck me so, that the next day in Jewelry and Metals class, I picked up a piece of wire, cut it’s tip particularly sharp, and discretely cut those words into my arm, something I’d never done before. Token was very supportive of me through this ordeal. He made me feel more validated in life. I never showed anyone the words carved into my flesh. I didn’t want them to worry. I can say I had never been so happy when I thought I would never have to see my coach again, and have never been as happy since.   
I should also say that honestly, I love Token. Definitely as a friend, but if I could be in a more serious relationship with him, It would be so nice. He’s straight, so that’s a non start up. I miss him. It’s been so long since the last time I saw him. Most people don’t message me freely, except for him and Craig and Tweek. Talking to him is a pure joy. I wish I could tell him how I feel. I don’t want him to know that someone he’s spent so much time with was actually in love with him. I don’t deserve his friendship. Which I think I’ve already said. I’m sorry this is so poorly written. I’m not I writer. I just need to keep talking. I’ve hung out with him so much in the past. I bet he’s always hanging with all of his other friends. Like he thinks of me as just one of his many friends, and here I am with none. My greatest fear is that he’s sees me when I’m alone. I think this about everyone else, too, like I said, but when I think about Token seeing me, seeing me sit alone in my room all day, seeing me cry, and laughing at me, it makes me feel terrible. Like what’s even the point. Why do I have to be such a pitiful sight? I shouldn’t let him see me like this. I should just hide myself away. It will make things better for Token. He’ll be free from me. And maybe if I’m gone, my Dad will finally feel a moment of sadness in the loss of son. Except that won’t happen if I run away. If I run away, he’ll just disown me as his son. Look at me, it’s not running away, I’m eighteen. It’s doing what everyone else already did. Growing up.  
I feel like there’s even more. There are more I need to say. I don’t know how much longer I can go on like this. Because at this point, I’ve gotten what I wanted. After reminding myself of all the terrilbe things I’ve done-No, not all of the terrible things, the things that I can think of-I’m crying. And it feels good to be human. I’m sorry you had to read this. I’m sorry I put all of this on you, this sad case of mine. I hate to force others to deal with my problems. But I won’t be doing it again. I can promise you that.


End file.
